The Calcium Chronicles (Part 1: Atlas)

THE ROT BOG was overflowing with a stench fairly usual to it’s everyday foulness. Hershall D. Skeletoni, despite standing about ten feet from it in the stupefyingly moist heat of an Illinois summer, didn’t notice this, nor did anyone else in the world, because they were all skeletons now. Hershall sometimes wondered how long everyone had been a skeleton. But, he figured that at the end of the day, it didn’t really matter all that much as long as everyone could tell each other apart. Hershall separated himself from the other bone folks by scribbling his name across his skull in Sharpie every morning when he was done screaming into the sleepless void of night. This was how most skeletons distinguished themselves. Hershall however, like some, didn’t feel like this was enough. He didn’t have a dick anymore, so he didn’t wear pants, but he did like to feel cool, so he wore a leather biker jacket complete with a big scary back patch and some shoulder spikes. He also liked to carry an orange, scuffed, and dirty traffic cone under his arm. Hershall thought other skeletons might say things like “wow, look at that skeleton. What a badpelvis.” or “man, that cone goes really well with his patella.” However, most skeletons just said things like “what the fuck are you thinking, stupid ass? Skeletons can’t ride motorcycles. Take that fucking jacket off, poser-bitch.” or “Osteoporosis havin’ cone head. Look at this guy’s bone spurs. Have some self respect and sand those off already.” These things didn’t make Hershall happy, but in the end, he still thought they looked cool. He was intent on meeting someone else who did, too.

Hershall wasn’t all that happy about being alive again. He was born, like most skeletons, when his bone parents dug him out of a grave they thought looked nice, and put his bones all back together. After they chanted the magic birthing words, unholy light filled his eye sockets and he shuddered and rattled with new life. His new parents beamed at him like all skeletons had to because they didn’t have lips. “Welcome back, son! I’m your bone dad, Carlton, and this is your bone mom, Molina!” Hershall looked down at himself and the black soil that still clung to his ribs. “What the fuck? Why am I skeleton?” Horrible laughter clacked and rattled out of his bone parents’ skulls while their bony bodies jiggled and shimmied in a way that would have made anyone with a stomach puke. “We’re all skeletons now, son!” Hershall hated them. 

Hershall had tried to kill himself a few times. Every attempt convinced him more and more how invincible he was. He had thrown himself into the bog just last summer. At the bottom he met a pretty nice skeleton who had tried to do the same thing years ago. They hit it off and talked about books they’d read. But, before he knew it, someone caught Hershall’s bike jacket with their fishing line and reeled him up onto their dinghy. Everyone on the boat started clubbing him. 

He wasn’t sure why he came back to the bog this summer. He wasn’t trying to die anymore. Not only was it useless, it just made him sad afterward. He was trying to be more positive. He started thinking about his friend down there at the bottom of the bog. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a brick with “u r cool. Love, Hershall” chiseled into it’s surface. He drew his arm bones back, and hurled it into lake right where he remembered jumping in. He really hoped his friend would read it, but he was sure he’d never get a reply. 

---

Attack on a RUP Column

when the first bullets split the 
windows between us you were 
more armor than whole

                                                                 bristling with fuses
  claymores the spiny 
adaptations of class 
                                                                war packed with nails
                                                                and love letters 

                                                          you climbed the 
                                                          makeshift barricades 
                                                          into the line of tanks 
                                                          becoming nothing in a 
                                                          blister of hot air 

                                                                  when it was over 
                                                                  i was more alone 
                                                                  than anything 

breathing in your acrid 
mists awaiting my turn 

* RUP: Right Unity Platform, formed in 2036 when GOP absorbed domestic fascist formations and far right militias 

---

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Mathematical

cult-ic </math>matics <an item>                      I will paint you into nothing 

aligned=”equalized array”> sum                       strip you of your ears 

she – it – he – us – you                                                                         this is catastrophic 

calculated iambic rotation 

cukf                                                                    can you cast out god 

seagull 

rodeo ford                          with               pig seeps

clucking diamonds               idiot martyr 

“eat at joe’s”    free cra b yokohama ­

            all tuesday               snoring 

humble does               snoozing 

less ruminating   don’t lie to me                     tom murphy 

  ascemia                               is my bodyguard 

not me 

                  or do 

---

With the Threat of Heavy Fighting

With the threat of heavy fighting looming in the streets, many windows stayed open. The Holy Ones smacked their lips and twisted their fingers in their well conditioned hair.                   

Elsewhere…

 ...a man name Jacob fell dead on a thursday in the back of Factory #7. He was found at shift change tumbled over in a parts bin attacked by his own heart. A supervisor packed the contents of his break room locker into a mint tin and sent it to the coroner. His obituary would say that he was survived by a twelve hour swing shift. 

Elsewhere…

...my rifle plants tomatoes and claps back on facebook. Big Momma and Big Black rule the roost in our backyard chicken coup. They don’t understand the meaning of class. Each morning we steal their eggs and feed them to the others. 

Elsewhere…

...renters went out on strike. They threw up barricades at either end of sixth street. They shot an arrow into the wind with a note attached to it. The next day a truck full of pizzas arrived courtesy of the labor council. The note had said, “Send bullets”.

Elsewhere…

...there was a knock at the door. Maria Villareal opened it at 7:42:08. Three weeks later she was gone. They called it corona. Her obituary would say she was survived by an unlucky paycheck and 13 parking tickets.

Elsewhere…

...two mutual aid workers stabbed a fascist in an uptown alley. The police called it murder. The mayor said the victim was a good person. The barrio called it community defense and burned down a Walmart.

Elsewhere…

...They dug graves for the dead in abandoned parking lots. The coffins stretched for years.

Elsewhere…

Everywhere…

Always…

We’ve carried their boots. All we have to show for it is our chains.

---

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Good Bad Kid

I was born
in a flash
the morning sun

I was born
as a demon
to my mother; capricornic

all fresh, wet, and dripping
with the paint?
of someone's blood
and my great-grandfather's tobacco spit

my lungs both filled with water
I was already a special case
causing terror
delicate thing ruining lives

her face frozen as a twisted pale
statuette there was a truck parked
on her chest

my horns grew in and my
tongue was like a kriss
undulating steely sharp
edge a paradox
why did I plunge it through her heart

the lamb softly bleating fading out
and her tears slowly dripped into
her chest

I learned what I was.

---

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Suburban Lightsick Lullaby

Hold your breath
under the covers,
sing that song to yourself;
the one you never
sing in public.
The one where grays
sound transcendent orange and purple,
electrode home equity happytime and
graham crackers for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Beyond damage,|
popping asphalt lungs,
crazed unfortunate 
living on war bread and tailpipe oxygen.

Coffins eat hospital beds.
One funeral, ten.
Ten funerals to mass graves.

And their disinfected veins
have woven
into the bad angels 
from nightmare fairy tales.

Sleep safe
under my gelding knife,
grenade.
Tomorrow a picture
of the sun
waits for you.

Stay in here,
where we wait
for the last dumb sucker
underpaid soldier 
to die.

In here,
where time bends around you.
And where God is a 
loving reactionary.

Don’t you dare dream
of outside.

---

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Sound (Chapters 4-6)

HECTOR: I TWIRLED the pricing gun around my finger. My reflexes told me the old lady behind the chili and lime peanut display was about to fire on me. I aimed the gun at her and pulled the trigger six times in quick succession. The plinky, awful Spending Sounds drowned out the clatter of the plastic gun. I leaned down to pick up the 97 cent stickers before they stuck to the floor and I’d have to get a razor to clean them up. 

As I stood up I noticed the old woman was standing at the counter holding a case of beer with both hands. Stacked on top was a bag of peanuts, some chips, and a handful of candy bars. 

She smiled wide with crooked, yellow and brown teeth. “Hola, Hector!” 

“Hola, Kina.” I tugged a thin plastic bag from the edge of the counter. I shook it open. I quickly scanned the items, saving the beer for last. Once it scanned, the register beeped. “You got your beer slips?” I asked. 

Kina was already rifling through the gray cotton bag she carried as a purse. I waited patiently. I smiled when she gave me the rumpled booklet of monthly vice vouchers. I tore the last slip from the book. When I looked back toward her I waggled the empty stack’s end between my fingers. Kina nodded towards the recycling can in the corner. I shot it overhand into the open end and gave a thumbs up when the motor inside chewed through it. 

The register chimed to remind me to scan the voucher. I swiped the paper under the laser reader and fed it into the voucher safe. 

Kina peeled her sleeve back and held her wrist over the chip reader on her side of the counter. She winced when her wrist caught the magnet inside the machine. Once she felt the pull she rested her wrist on the machine and waited. She smiled a painful smile. 

Most clerks got used to seeing the wince of pain from customers. I was stuck on why it needed to literally hurt to buy things. I wondered if the thinner chips neeed to be as expensive as the manufacturers made them. 

Kina pulled her arm back and rubbed the spot on her wrist. I cringed as I handed her the bags and slid the beer towards her. 

“Sorry.” 

Kina shook her head. “Not your fault I can’t get the new one.” She sighed and looked out the doors into the rain. “Have a good night, Hector. Don’t work too hard.”

I laughed. “Ain’t no risk of that happening.” I watched the old woman disappear into the building across the street. 

A few moments later, the door pinged. I smiled when Avi stepped through. “Avi!” I walked around the counter and lifted myself up to sit on it. “How’s the fast life, scrubbing up jizz and needles?”

Avi snickered on their way to the drink cooler. They pulled out a frozen, strawberry flavored Mid-Day Max! energy soda from the far-left slot. I watched them with a smile. I knew Avi’s routine by heart. One frozen Mid-Day Max!, a pocket tin of joints, two Heat n’ Eat omni-meals (one of which would be given away on the way home), and two boxes of Sugar Mix. 

Sugar Mix was the only candy that didn’t require a voucher for purchase. It was an ungodly collection of the candy sprue and rejected pieces from candy factories across the city. Hard candy boxed with chocolates, taffy, and any other misshapen, broken, ruined, unsuitable-for-sale rejects that were still acceptable by some unclear government standard. I had tried it once and immediately regretted it. It took a long time to hammer off a piece. It was cloyingly sweet and the flavor was impossible to sort out. When I saw Avi I gave them shit. Avi never let me live it down. 

“You mean you ate it?” Avi seemed genuinely concerned. “You actually, really ate it?”

“Well, I didn’t swallow it. I couldn’t get past the fucking flavor.” I laughed. 

Avi shook their head. “Man, there’s a homeless dude about three blocks down. He doesn’t even eat it. He uses it to make Jump for the neighborhood.”

I smiled at the memory.

The door pinged again. A woman with blue eyes and brown hair, her face low, walked back to the bathroom and closed the door. Avi and I exchanged a look as Avi approached the register. 

I scanned each item, glancing occasionally towards the bathroom. Avi hovered their wrist over the chip reader, not flinching at all when the magnet caught the pull of the chip. Two more women walked in with a large suitcase and Avi caught my eyes. I rolled them before turning my attention to the women. Avi waved as they left. 

The two women stopped near the door but far enough so as not to trigger the motion detector. Both sat on the floor near the gambling machines and one started to unzip the suitcase, keeping her body between it and me. This only served to make me more curious.

I approached them after a moment’s pause. “Uhhh, this isn’t a Vice House, so…” I trailed off when he saw the papers, pictures and lacy underwear inside. “What the fuck…?”

The woman stood up quickly and smiled at me. “Do you like your job, dude?”

I blinked a few times as he tried to process exactly what was happening. I laughed. “No, of course not.” My voice was incredulous. 

The woman nodded and smiled wider. “Man, neither do I. Want to get a drink when you’re off?” The woman at the suitcase handed her a business card which she immediately stuffed into my hand. 

I cocked my head to the side slightly as I read it. “Adagio…” I ran my finger across the embossed word pressed into the thin black card. “Should I know where this is?” I asked. 

The woman handling the suitcase had already zipped it up and was standing it back up on its wheels. “Remember where your dad worked?” She asked, never turning her attention away from the black suitcase. 

I shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, at the-“

“That’ll be where you find us.” She interjected before I could finish. The woman in the bathroom opened the door and peeked out. She had changed into a long, hooded black dress that clung to her tightly. I recognized her immediately. 

“Rani?” My voice was small. The women with the suitcase were waiting patiently. One of them signaled for Rani to raise her hood which she did quickly. “Where have you been?” 

Rani turned so she could see me while keeping her face hidden by the hood. “I’ll see you tonight, Hector.” She smiled. 

I watched the three women leave with my mouth still hanging open. I looked at the business card in my hand. Something about the previous interaction told him he wouldn’t want to be found with it. He gave the card one last look at the card then shredded it with his bare hands before feeding it into the schredder. 

The door pinged to signal a new customer entering. I turned to see the two women carting the suitcase being arrested by police across the street. A homeless woman came inside, walking in backwards into an energy drink display. The contents swayed and she gave a whistle. “Ain’t lucky to have a close call while you’re watchin’ someone get piggied.” She giggled and turned to me. “What’s your cheapest cigarettes?”

AVI: I WOKE startled. The alarm for my new job was chirping. I slapped at my phone, forgetting for a moment that work alarms of this size required a fingerprint to turn off. I unearthed my phone from the old blankets and silenced it. The screen lit the dim bedroom and I looked around with immediate regret. 

My feed was clogged with videos of a recent arrest. Two women in dark clothes were pulling a suitcase, seemingly unconcerned with a cop angrily pointing guns at them. I found it strange that the women weren’t more upset about being taken in for what would likely be Production and Distribution of Classist Material. Prison work was scary enough to warrant a frantic nervousness among anyone being hassled by a cop. These women seemed almost amused when the cop knelt down and threw the suitcase contents all over the street. The person filming leaned over to pick up a picture that the cop had thrown and the video abruptly stopped. 

I turned my phone off and tossed it back into the pile of blankets. I had time for a shower, which I would need to pass Lemon’s inspection. There was no way he’d want his personal custodian unwashed and smelling like yesterday’s weed and energy drinks. I lit a joint and shuffled into the bathroom, letting the skunky cloud perfume my bedroom.

After a quick wash, I dressed in a fresh, clean uniform. I had half an hour left to make it to work. Plenty of time.

My commute was uneventful. No one from the neighborhood was around and the shops at the end of the next district were also empty. The people in this area kept a tight schedule whether they wanted to or not. 

The giant silver palm tree shone like a beacon at the end of the street. I checked my phone. Twenty minutes. I ducked into the Pay n’ Go, hoping to see Hector and ask about the arrest. 

Bob, the RetailBot, quirked his head, processing my face against mysterious government databases. RetailBots’ official purpose were to gather purchasing statistics and customer demographics. The government was obsessed with quantifying the people of the city but they never seemed to gather enough information. 

I picked out two large bottles of Go!Light energy water, an Omni-Meal, two boxes of chocolate cubes, and a Breakfast
Brick Big Meal. I knew the job would mean short but intense bouts of cleaning amidst long stretches of waiting to be beckoned. I paused and grabbed another bottle of water and another Omni-Meal. I checked my bag to make sure my phone charger was inside and saw it nestled against my notebook.

Bob followed me with his eyes as I approached. I sat my snacks and drinks down. It was a treat for me to watch a robot scan things so quickly. They were faster than their human counterparts. You could sometimes get them to complain about humans which was also a treat. 

Once outside I stopped to check the time again. Fifteen minutes early was fine.

I stopped at the office to drop off my bag of food. I put on
my apron and gloves and took a bucket of basic supplies to the Imperial Gradatist Hall. The room was still empty. By 6 p.m., Lemon was still absent. I checked the status of the job, just in case. I was happy to see that I was back ‘on-call.’ I could leave.

My walk home was quick. I got back into bed. Four hours later, I woke feeling rested and set about feeding myself.

I’d just lit a joint when my phone buzzed. The screen flashed red and white. I was being summoned. I hovered the joint above the ashtray, paused, and took one final long hit. I stubbed it out and tucked the roach behind my left ear. 

The streets were empty at 1:47 a.m. The Silver Palms looked almost abandoned. The neon sign gave the front of the building an eerie vibe. I ducked in and waved to the Security Bot working the front. 

I threw on the apron as my phone received another round of call-in notices. No doubt Lemon was hammering the button and complaining about how slow custodians were. Finally, I reached the Imperial Gradatist Hall and knocked hard on the door. It jerked open seconds later. Lemon, looking frantic, peeked his head out, his eyes darting up and down the hall. He reached out and grabbed me by the apron and yanked me through the door. He was radiating a worried, frenetic energy. 

The room was in shambles. I barked out a humorless laugh as I looked around, hardly noticing I was tugging at my own hair in exasperation. There was broken glass near the bar and a growing puddle from a tipped over wine bottle. I turned to Lemon, mouth agape. I bit back a snide remark about how nice it must be to have a button to press to clean up your messes. 

Lemon sat down on the end of the bed and lit a joint. He waved his hand around the room then buried his face in his hands. 

I was already making a mental list of what needed to be done. The money was the only thing that made this mess funny. 

I ducked down to peek under the bed, planning to start there, and fell back in surprise. There were a pair of feet sticking out from a blanket. “Are you hiding?” I asked, tapping the bottom of the foot. When no response came, I gave the foot a tug. Still no response. “Sir?” I asked, looking up at Lemon who refused to lift his head. 

“Clean it up.” Lemon ordered flatly. His jaw muscles were rippling as he tried to keep himself contained. 

I turned back to the feet poking out from under the gold silk. I poked them again with a gloved finger. My shoulders sank.

“You are going to clean this up, aren’t you?” Lemon’s voice was less demanding but the sharp edge was still there. “You’re not going to make an issue of this, are you, Sexton?”

I closed my eyes. I grabbed the body by the ankles and pulled until the it started to slide out from under the bed. Lemon watched silently, puffing hard on the joint between his thin lips. 

I recognized liaison Gemina Groszek immediately. Her eyes were closed like she was sleeping. I may have been able to pretend but for the knife sticking out of her right temple. I staggered back a step, cold with shock. Gemina had been sweet. Always welcoming and kind to me and the other employees at the Silver Palms. She had, as the rumor had gone, almost immediately agreed to take on dangerous kink work without a second thought. 

Lemon watched me from the bed, eyes bloodshot. He was still waiting for an answer. 

I imagined turning the Senator in to the police. Cops loved Senator Lemon. He was their biggest advocate in the Senate. They always looked the other way for him - as the rumors went. I sank to my knees. I could rock this boat and end up in a fucking work camp or a body bag or I could take this money and get out of the city. “I’ll clean this. But this is fucked up. If you want me to do this, you need to leave. Give me four hours.”

Lemon dropped the joint to the floor and crushed it out with his heel. Without another word he left me alone with Gemina. 

I crawled over to Gemina’s body and pulled off my gloves. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it weakly. “I’m sorry, Gemina. I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure why I was apologizing but I couldn’t stop talking. “I know I should say something but then we’ll both be dead. I’m sorry he did this to you. But I don’t want to die. I wouldn’t expect you to say anything, either. This is fucked up. Fuck.” I dropped Gemina’s hand and fumbled the gloves back on. I wrapped Gemina in the blanket. After a moment of silence, I carefully carried her to the basement incinerator and slipped her in.

HECTOR: BOB TURNED  his head slightly and looked at me for a moment. “Not many of you coming in today, Hector.”

I grunted a reply. 

Bob turned to survey the empty store. He buzzed a circuit in his left hand to move a finger. It vibrated against the register, causing a pile of paper clips to slide onto the counter. He registered the mess and rolled into the back to get a hand broom. 

I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway. “Thanks, Bob.”

Bob beeped twice in acknowledgement and swept the paper clips into his cupped hand and deposited them on the register again. “I am indistinguishable from a custodial bot.” 

I nodded. “Me, too, man.” 

Bob watched me for a moment. After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Fuck the man.”

My eyebrows shot up as I tipped forward in surprise. I extended a fist to Bob who bumped it immediately. “You said it, brother.” 

The jingle of the door caught our attention. 

“Hello.” Bob greeted Avi with the tiny, recorded welcome it often neglected to use. 

“Hey, Bob.” Avi sighed, searching their pockets. “Hector.” Avi smiled weakly, still rifling through their pockets. Finally, they came out with their alcohol stipend book. 

My heart sank in seeing how red Avi’s eyes were. I stepped around the counter and pulled myself up. I patted the spot next to me to offer it to Avi but they shook their head. 

“I just need a few bottles.” Avi mumbled as they ambled towards the back cooler. 

This was Avi’s fourth pass through the store and they were almost out of their second stipend book. How they’d managed to get a second one after blowing through the first in three weeks was something I didn’t want to think about. 

Avi lit a joint and held it between their teeth as they put a bottle of Bottom Shelf High Octane into their basket. After staring at the shelf they grabbed another.  Avi already had a funk of Cathode Ray OG. I started to worry I might get a contact high. CR OG was the strongest weed you could get from city approved sources. 

The slow onset gave the weed a learning curve. It blossomed over twenty minutes from light giggles and a powerful hunger to being completely spaced and numb. The first time it was sold thirty-six percent of Class 4 and 5 wage-workers didn’t show up for work because they were too baked to hear their alarms. I wondered if Avi had a tolerance from being perpetually high or if something was seriously wrong. 

Avi shuffled to the counter and placed the basket down. Bob lifted a bottle out and scanned it. I stepped forward and blocked him from taking the next.

“Dude, how can you smoke so much of that shit?” I teased. 

Avi pulled the joint from between their teeth and offered it. I shook my head but Avi pushed the joint closer. “Try it, it isn’t that bad.” Avi blinked their glassy, red eyes and shrugged. 

“I’ll try it if you come with me to this bar I keep hearing about.” I bargained. Avi’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t know, man.” Avi shook their head. “Look, I got all this to carry home.”

“So don’t buy all this alcohol. Come back for it later if you still want it.” I watched Avi turn the idea over in their mind.

“I don’t want to go to some loud bar and listen to city music, Hector.”

“No music.” I smiled when Avi perked up. “Rani told me about it.”

Rani’s name was much more of a draw than the lack of music. Avi’s shoulders sank as they gave in. “Okay.” They finally conceded. “Okay, what’s it called?” 

“Adagio.” I clapped Avi on the back. “I’m off at 10.”

“Bob, you coming, too?” Avi asked. 

Bob shook his head. “Alcohol? Music? Human prejudice? No, thank you.” 

Avi nodded, considering that a perfectly reasonable response. “I’ll be here at 9:30. You’re buying me dinner.” Avi said, removing a small bottle of Middle Shelf Comfort and pushing the rest to the side. 

Bob scanned the item as a new sale and bagged it in black paper as Avi tore out one of their coupons. Avi waited for the display to change then scanned the chip in their wrist, wincing as the magnets caught. Being baked or drunk evaporated their usual bravery. 

Avi turned and shoved the joint at me. “We had a deal?”

I sighed and took a small puff and then a normal one in response to Avi’s stern expression. I slowly exhaled the skunky, earthy smoke. Avi seemed satisfied and stuck the joint back between their teeth. 

“See you at 9:30!” I called after in a voice still choked by smoke. 

The emptiness struck me just as I felt the high. I was suddenly hyper aware of my surroundings. I couldn’t help but notice the buzz of Bob’s joints and the pulse of the district through the plink-y convenience store music. 

I saw Bob watching me. He asked, “What’s it like?”

“Weed?” I asked, anxious at the sound of my own voice amidst the other sounds. Bob nodded and the buzz of his neck joint was hilarious. “It’s skunky and harsh, sometimes. Most of the time skunky.” I shook my head. “Sorry, it’s, uh… Well, this one’s kind of intense compared to what I’m used to.” I laughed. “It’s hard to explain. It’s disorienting but in a good way. It makes everything funny, sometimes. Or sometimes you just feel good and want to eat everything. Can robots get high?” 

Bob shrugged. “I guess there are apps…” He looked around for a moment. “They make it hard to do numbers and they play this recording of a kid laughing so I’m not interested. What if it fucks up my programming permanently and I can’t do math? Then I have to apply to be a CustodialBot and get my serial numbers filed off and changed.” Bob rolled over to his docking station and sat in the charging chair. “I heard it hurts to change numbers and that they scrap us if things go wrong.”

I watched Bob for a moment, forgetting he was a robot. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to be considered subhuman. It crept up on me slowly that I knew perfectly well. 

“You are so baked, Hector.” Bob chuckled. “You’ve been staring at me for five minutes.”

I fumbled and nearly fell over as I tried to pull himself up onto the counter. “I’m going to go lay down in the back for a while. Watch the front, please?”

“You got it, buddy.” Bob gave me two thumbs up as he watched me disappear into the back room.

10,000 Years in the Life of a Shelf Stable Reverse Osmosis Pulsar

If I lived 27thousand
300-
78 years
I would lose one billion hairs
99 percent of billionaires are 
Not billed
One quarter of prescriptions are
Not filled.

Mixing damiana
and valerian
Rather than being 
NyQuiled
Keep it raw keep it raw keep it raw
Not grilled
Wanna have a voice?
Invent a language
Get quilled
Wanna stay, living on the bay coast?
Get gilled

Super-massive
Black-hole
The truth floats around us, gaseous
Super-massive
Black-hole
Utopia arises out of sinking paradises
Super-massive
Black-hole
The truth comes down on us, distilled.

Consciousness begins to condensate
Distilled
Consciousness as a liquid state
Distilled
Flow 
Over the cup,over the vase
Distilled
Flowing from a distant place
contemplate

Existence as a liquid state
Coming from a different space
Contemplate
The complexities of the 
Gaseous mass
And the societal structures of bacteria living in Intestinal tracks

Saw the future, saw the future, saw the future
Not thrilled.
These bastards are actors, not masters
Their labor is stolen and
Unskilled
Don’t celebrate at the ceremony
The value and debt are both phoney
Leave your loans unpaid
Perceptions unfilled
99 percent of billionaires
Are not billed

I saw the future I saw the future I saw the future
Not thrilled
Knock it down knock it down knock it down
Rebuild

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Mirror Mirror

It’s time to talk about the mirror.
It’s been sitting in the corner all week.
strange and vivid shadows dance through it.
I’ve watched them pass each day
all day
They pass through and sometimes look
like someone I know
each time
someone still living, someone I love

It’s been another week
are you a fool?
I’ve been telling you now for two weeks
those shadows pass each day
all day
and one of them looked like you
for a second I swear
one of them looked like you
that foolish face and that
ass cleft chin were
unmistakable

Three weeks now since
that mirror moved in
it’s out of the corner now and 
it’s at the foot of the bed.
I see the faces and shadows passing
each day
every day
and now I’m sure
it’s you.

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